JodiMelville
14th April 2004, 10:45
A/N: Hey, all. This is my first attempt at a Chlex/SV fanfic - so be nice! Kind of . . . I would like honest opinions though. If it sucks or if they're OOC, let me know, people! :D This actually started out as a short character sketch, so I could work on keeping Lex and Chloe in character for another story I was trying to write, and it took on a life of its own. The beginning dialog is actually from a movie called Dark City, so it's NOT MINE, but I felt it was fitting here - I loved the quote, didn't want to forget it, and just incorporated it thus. Okay, and since my note is becoming longer than the fanfiction . . . on with the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing but my WhitneyTruck. So there.
Convention
“We’re very lucky when you think about it.” His quiet voice stalked through the silence as he appeared from behind her, making his presence known. “To be able to revisit those places that once meant so very much to us.”
She smirked sadly at the back of his bald head as she replied. “I thought it was more that we were haunted by them.”
He turned slowly to face her, his eyes meeting hers, reading them before he answered nonchalantly, “Perhaps.” He moved toward her, so close that his image threatened to dwarf her thoughts, yet she kept her gaze straight ahead, never shifting from her position on the bleachers. Her posture was tired, her eyes blank, as she stared across the gymnasium. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame now; he noticed this and clenched his jaw, desperately trying to keep those feelings of helplessness from his features. As he stood idly by, his father had made her a pawn. He pulled his long overcoat around him and sat down next to her on the bench. Embracing the stillness, Lex waited for her to speak.
They sat side by side for nearly an hour without a single word passing between them. He hated to see her like this, completely broken and lost in thoughts of desolation. Admittedly, he liked the new Chloe: the Chloe that carried all of her usual snarky nature, yet that was now laced with heavy doses of caution. Vigilance and regret seemed to give her a more mature air, leaving her eyes a bit more mournful, yet still flashing with the fires of her intelligence. But the broken state he found her in now made her too old, and it reminded him of his own battle scars. And more than anything, he needed to protect her from that fate. But he couldn’t help her. He didn’t know how. So, he stayed with her in the quiet, feeling the pangs of this failure heavy in his heart.
She finally attempted to speak, but her words were caught inside her, coming through her lips only as a whisper. Clearing her throat, she began again. “We danced together,” she lifted an arm weakly, gesturing toward an area within the gym, “over there.” Lex nodded to her words, unable to ascertain where the mentioned dance had taken place, then fixed his gaze on her face as she spoke. “He requested my favorite song, and everything . . .” she trailed off momentarily, wandering into a daydream, “was so perfect.” She roughly shook her head from side to side, breaking herself from her reverie. “But I should have known better. And now?” She turned away from him quickly to hide the tears forming in her eyes, but he could still hear them in her voice as she murmured, “What happens when there’s nothing left? When there’s nothing left of who I am – who I used to be?”
He could provide no answer for her – rather, he could not bear to break her heart even more with the answer he could provide. And so he sat in stunned silence at the depth within her words, those years of experience that she seemed to accept as a punishment of her so-called wicked deeds. He was humbled by her and frightened for her. She existed, martyred in friendship, protecting to those she cared for by never requesting anything in return for her devotion and shielding them from pain by suppressing her emotions in lieu of theirs. He wondered if she believed she deserved to be unhappy, and he shuddered at the parallels within their thoughts. He wanted to save her in some way, to show her that she still had a chance to break away from her melancholy – to break from becoming what he was. But he faltered within himself and remained silent next to her, unable to express the emotion writhing inside of him. His mask remained intact due to staunch habit, but this time there was no glory in it.
She exhaled roughly, drawing his attention as she spoke again, her words clipped and her voice holding a controlled edge of determination that attempted to be devoid of emotion. “Sentimentality is synonymous with vulnerability,” she stated, her gaze remaining forward.
He looked at her incredulously, swallowing before he made any reply. “That’s just what my father once said to me.”
Her face turned toward his then, the briefest of smiles on her lips, a dulled mischief in her eye; and she held his gaze for a moment before she spoke. “Small world,” she countered. Placing her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to a standing position and climbed from the bleachers, leaving him speechless as he watched her small frame exit through the gymnasium door.
END
Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing but my WhitneyTruck. So there.
Convention
“We’re very lucky when you think about it.” His quiet voice stalked through the silence as he appeared from behind her, making his presence known. “To be able to revisit those places that once meant so very much to us.”
She smirked sadly at the back of his bald head as she replied. “I thought it was more that we were haunted by them.”
He turned slowly to face her, his eyes meeting hers, reading them before he answered nonchalantly, “Perhaps.” He moved toward her, so close that his image threatened to dwarf her thoughts, yet she kept her gaze straight ahead, never shifting from her position on the bleachers. Her posture was tired, her eyes blank, as she stared across the gymnasium. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame now; he noticed this and clenched his jaw, desperately trying to keep those feelings of helplessness from his features. As he stood idly by, his father had made her a pawn. He pulled his long overcoat around him and sat down next to her on the bench. Embracing the stillness, Lex waited for her to speak.
They sat side by side for nearly an hour without a single word passing between them. He hated to see her like this, completely broken and lost in thoughts of desolation. Admittedly, he liked the new Chloe: the Chloe that carried all of her usual snarky nature, yet that was now laced with heavy doses of caution. Vigilance and regret seemed to give her a more mature air, leaving her eyes a bit more mournful, yet still flashing with the fires of her intelligence. But the broken state he found her in now made her too old, and it reminded him of his own battle scars. And more than anything, he needed to protect her from that fate. But he couldn’t help her. He didn’t know how. So, he stayed with her in the quiet, feeling the pangs of this failure heavy in his heart.
She finally attempted to speak, but her words were caught inside her, coming through her lips only as a whisper. Clearing her throat, she began again. “We danced together,” she lifted an arm weakly, gesturing toward an area within the gym, “over there.” Lex nodded to her words, unable to ascertain where the mentioned dance had taken place, then fixed his gaze on her face as she spoke. “He requested my favorite song, and everything . . .” she trailed off momentarily, wandering into a daydream, “was so perfect.” She roughly shook her head from side to side, breaking herself from her reverie. “But I should have known better. And now?” She turned away from him quickly to hide the tears forming in her eyes, but he could still hear them in her voice as she murmured, “What happens when there’s nothing left? When there’s nothing left of who I am – who I used to be?”
He could provide no answer for her – rather, he could not bear to break her heart even more with the answer he could provide. And so he sat in stunned silence at the depth within her words, those years of experience that she seemed to accept as a punishment of her so-called wicked deeds. He was humbled by her and frightened for her. She existed, martyred in friendship, protecting to those she cared for by never requesting anything in return for her devotion and shielding them from pain by suppressing her emotions in lieu of theirs. He wondered if she believed she deserved to be unhappy, and he shuddered at the parallels within their thoughts. He wanted to save her in some way, to show her that she still had a chance to break away from her melancholy – to break from becoming what he was. But he faltered within himself and remained silent next to her, unable to express the emotion writhing inside of him. His mask remained intact due to staunch habit, but this time there was no glory in it.
She exhaled roughly, drawing his attention as she spoke again, her words clipped and her voice holding a controlled edge of determination that attempted to be devoid of emotion. “Sentimentality is synonymous with vulnerability,” she stated, her gaze remaining forward.
He looked at her incredulously, swallowing before he made any reply. “That’s just what my father once said to me.”
Her face turned toward his then, the briefest of smiles on her lips, a dulled mischief in her eye; and she held his gaze for a moment before she spoke. “Small world,” she countered. Placing her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to a standing position and climbed from the bleachers, leaving him speechless as he watched her small frame exit through the gymnasium door.
END